Father Nikiforov
by phayte1978
Summary: Father Nikiforov sat, listening to Yuuri's confession. What was his take on all of this? - Sort of a PART 2 to CONFESSION - I advise reading that FIRST... then this. I did NOT make it a second chapter, as it is a stand alone. Would just advice reading that first - AU


Clutching his bible hard in one hand, the other on the wooden cross hanging heavy around his neck, Father Nikiforov is barely breathing. Why is the incense so strong today? He can feel it dragging deep into his lungs. Sitting in the cell of his chamber. The wooden walls dark, the room dark from outside, except for a sliver of light at the bottom crack of the door. Listening to the confession in the next room, he could barely breathe. What it was doing to him was wrong. He felt it, through his _*cassock_ , through his black basic cotton pants, through his starched stiff white boxers. He was affected. Shifting on the hard wooden bench he sat on, no matter how he moved, never at ease. The bench never felt so uncomfortable, the room never so small. Incense so strong, he swore he could see it if he looked hard enough.

Under his cassock, his cock was half hard, even the bible on his lap could not will it down. Letting go of the wooden cross around his neck, he placed his fingers to forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Instinctively his hand went above his cassock, rubbing his cock. It felt so blasphemous to be affected by this, to be getting hard over this, to be fighting over right and wrong. His love of God or sins of the flesh? This conflict eating at his core.

Those words he was hearing from _him_. Always sat in the front pews during mass. Always looking up at him in awe with big brown eyes. At first his hair would fall into his eyes, then after a few weeks, _he_ would push that hair back. _He_ always had such an innocent look to _his_ face, _his_ eyes told another story. Breathing in deep, the incense burning in the back of his throat.

Trying to control his breathing – at least it not be heard, his cock was growing harder and harder. The leather-bound side to his bible pressing into the side of his length as his hand went from a gentle rubbing to a harder friction, but he needed more. Absently, his hand started to clench at his cassock, slowly lifting them up, hitching the front of them above his waistband of his pants, slowly unbuttoning them. _He_ was driving him wild. Making him forget his sacrament. Making him forget his promise to God.

 _"I know… I can't stop… I… I don't want to stop...I want him… I want him… to bend me over… the sacrificial table… I want him… to pour holy water… all over my body… I picture those hands… taking my pants off… I picture him… bending me over… using those… ugh… those fingers… he spreads me before the Lord... "_

Gasping… bringing his fist to his mouth, biting down on the soft flesh of his hand, forgetting he was holding his bible in that hand – the bible falls from his hand. A loud thump on the floor. A sharp intake of breath as he hurriedly bends to pick up his holy book. "Blessed are the pure of heart... for they shall see God… S-sorry my son… dropped something… go on," he stammers out. Not believing he just dropped his bible. Fingers to forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Unzipping his pants, sliding the hand not gripping the bible, he wraps his fingers around his erection. A silent prayer sent to the heavens, he knows this is wrong. Imaging taking _him_ to the pulpit, bending him over the sacrificial table… his grip on his erection harder, slowly pulling his hand down, imagining _him_ bent over, imagining to have his way with _his_ body.

" _He spreads me before the Lord… those fingers… they stroke down my spine… they seek further down… they… they find my entrance…they are gentle… those long… lean fingers… he presses them… in me.. .he continues to press those... fingers in me… getting me… ready for him…_ "

Knuckles white as he grips his bible. Precum glossing the head of his cock. Every thing _he_ is saying, tears at him to his soul. Torn between his love of the lord, and sin of the flesh. Those words, confessional words, rip through him. There is a slight sound of moisten skin slapping next door. Taking in short shallow breaths, his nose is burning from incense. He was biting his lower lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood came into his mouth. He could not moan or breathe out: he needed to keep his passion quiet, concealed. He was slowly pulling down the sensitive foreskin to his cock, feeling the dribbles on the side of his fingers, letting the slick liquid help lubricate his shaft. Thumbing his cock head, applying the smallest amount of pressure into the slit, feeling the liquid pool over his thumb.

" _I can imagine it so well… I know it is sinful… but I can never stop… what gets… gets me over the edge… when I feel the scratchy robes on my body… he has pulled up his robes… freeing his magnificent self… pressing himself against me… the robes… they fall on my back… I can almost feel them if I try hard enough… he enters me… gently… laying his wooden cross on the center of back… keeping me pinned to the sacrificial table… he takes me… he claims me! In front of God, in front of the congregation… Uh.. UGH! Oh Father Nikiforov!"_

Gasping, eyes wide, did he just say… was that…? He stopped moving, his hand stilled on his cock, he stopped breathing, he thinks he even went blind at that moment.

There is silence, movement can be heard, sharp intake of breath, a wet sound with moaning, it goes straight to his cock. His hand firmly around his engorged cock, cassock pushed up the front, gripping it hard. His cock head purple and leaking. _"Please, forgive me father, for I have sinned… and continue to sin…_ " He is taking slow, deep breaths, incense filling his lungs, he needs to calm his voice and breathing so he can speak. He cannot let it quiver or stutter. Not now, not with his cock in one hand, the bible in the other. Releasing his cock, pulling down the edge of his cassock, fingers to forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Praying silently for God to give him strength. One more deep breath.

"Pray with me my son… Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body…. My son…your penance is five rosaries...please continue to pray in our Lord and Savior. Blessed are those whose sins have been forgiven, whose evil deeds have been forgotten. Rejoice in the Lord, and go in peace. Pray for me, I will pray for you. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

" _Amen. Thank you Father._ "

He can hear _him_ moving around the room, then the door clicking as _he_ leaves. Letting out a low moan, tilting his head back, resting it on the thick wood on the wall, swallowing hard. His cock is heavy against his lower abdomen, throbbing. He cannot, not in here, not in his confessional. Setting his bible down next to him, ignoring the call his cock is giving him, he tucks back in the plain white boxers, struggles to button his pants, lowering his cassock. His palms, sweaty, he rubs down the fabric in attempt to wipe the moisture off. He takes another deep breath, almost coughing from the incense that is now choking him, at least that is what he tells himself. Fingers to forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right.

Standing up, straightening his cassock, making sure it lays properly, covering any signs of the sin in his mind. Grabbing his bible again, afraid it will burn the flesh on his hand, and relieved it does not. Staring at the brass knob on the door, shaking his hand he goes to open it. The moisture on his palm still there, marking the brass as he twists it, having to twist a bit more so it will click open.

Light pouring in around him, the stained glass from the window radiating light down on the floor. Slowly entering out into the corridor of the church, the lights amass of colors raining down on the walls and tiled floor. The doorway into the church was open, and he knew that was where _he_ was now. Doing _his_ penance, kneeling before the Lord, ten beads in a row. Penance for _his_ sin. Wondering himself should he kneel next to him, finger those beads, ten in a row— _Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee…_

Still feeling the fullness between his legs, the burning of need, the want of such sin. Breathing in slow and carefully, the scent of the incense not as harsh stepping through the archway into the main church. High ceilings that arch to the heavens, wooden beams strong with a natural wood, soft lights as sunlight came beaming through the stained glass, candles lined off to the corner, only a few lit, and silence. A silence that wanted to choke him as the incense had.

Standing in the doorway, looking towards the back of the church, watching _him_ kneeling, eyes closed, head down, mouth moving, beads dangling between _his_ fingers. Fingers that were just dancing along the sinful flesh, fingers that he so badly wanted to take–softly suck on. Fingers gently and most carefully twirling a bead, then moving to another, ten beads in a row, five in a loop— _Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name…_

Not knowing how long he stood there, in that archway, staring at _him_ , watching _him_ pray, feeling the need in him never dying down. _Thy Kingdom come… Thy will be done_... The fires of hell were racing to his groin. Knowing if he stood there another moment, he would do sacrilege right in the archway. Willing his feet to move, quietly to the back of the church through the back doorway, slipping out. Finding himself in a hallway, taking a deep breath, one not filled with incense, hoping to calm his racing sinful mind. _On Earth as it is in Heaven_...

Fingers to forehead, midsection, left shoulder and right. Sweat laced his brow and behind his neck. Never had the church been this hot. Using the back of his sleeve, clearing away the moisture on his brow, finding the small room he searched out, closing the door behind him. _Give us this day our daily bread…_ Leaning against the door, chest heaving, the air is clean, but it is hard to breathe. The weight between his legs drowning him. Praying to God it will go away, praying it will all go away. _And forgive us our trespasses…_ Tears welling into the corners of his eyes, as we forgive those who trespass against us…

"Lead me NOT INTO TEMPTATION BUT DELIVER ME FROM EVIL!" He all but yells out. Falling to his knees in front of his desk. Setting the weight of his bible onto the wooden table top, clutching his hands to his chest. _For thine is the kingdom, the power the glory, forever and ever…_

A cry escaping his mouth, hands clenching, praying, the weight between his legs getting worse. Everything in his being calling him to go back into that church, take _him_ and sin. Take _him_ , never looking back. Fighting between the power of faith, and the power of sex, the latter won.

Tugging the cassock up, around his waist, tears watering his vision, looking up, seeing the statue of the Virgin Mary, as the sun lit down on her – pure, white, good. His need flooding any rational thought in his mind. Unbuttoning those pants again, pulling out his heavy, throbbing cock. Crying out as his fingers wrapped around it. Three quick pulls, it was all over. His sin littered on the floor and his hand.  
Resting his arm on his desk, against his bible, his head resting on his arms, looking at his shame on the floor. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Feeling the fire sedated within, the bliss flooding his mind, his shame still in his hand. "Dear Lord… forgive me, for I have sinned, and I will continue to sin…" a small cry escaping his throat.

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*Cassock - priest robes

I am also on AO3 as Phayte


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